


The Aftermath of Failure

by Lucky7



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Coping, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky7/pseuds/Lucky7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone deals with the aftermath of failure in their own way... (Post Season 1, prior Season 3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Step back a bit, Finch.” Reese’s voice is tight as he gently pulls on the older man's arm. “Not a whole lot of rubber-neckers this evening.”

Because it’s a miserable night, Finch thinks, moving away from the yellow tape. Rain is misting around them now, the temperature falling by the minute. A fitting backdrop to the proceedings being carried out on the other side of the barrier. 

Though they’ve positioned themselves far enough away to be taken as part of the macabre pack that always seems drawn to tragedy, John is right; they need to be vigilant. There aren’t enough onlookers here to provide them adequate cover. 

The coroner’s minions carry two large body bags to the non-descript van under the watchful eyes of the attending detectives. Two vinyl bags, one of which he knows weighs much less than the other… the one that contains the body of a child. Could they not have used a size appropriate bag...? But he supposes it’s probably an issue of economics: one size fits all, bought in bulk.

He casts a sidelong glance at Reese. The activities across the street follow a routine all too familiar to them - he and the ex-agent having frequently witnessed the aftermath of a brutal act. Mayhem, torture …murder. In fact, before he had found John Reese there are been many such times when he’d stood alone, watching the results of his inability to change the course of a tragic event in the making. Watching the results of his failure.

The only thing he could do then was to go back to the library and add to his wall. His wall of shame…not built with mortar and brick, but with one photo, one article, one obituary at a time. 

_And all these numbers represent…?_  
_Lost chances…_

Reese’s face reveals nothing. Not unexpected; old habits die hard. But how many bodies has the man seen in his lifetime? And how many of those were the direct result of his expertise while working for the CIA? How many while working for his current employer...? 

Questions Finch never asks, as the answers are ones he’ll _never_ want to hear. 

Not important anymore anyway. They are inexorably linked now, two ‘dead’ men seeking exoneration for their pasts, forgiveness for their sins. His for actions he didn’t take, Reese for actions he did. Will their current efforts be sufficient to counteract their earlier transgressions…and will good-faith efforts that still result in failure be counted in the positive column? 

It’s something they’ll never know. Not in this life.

He turns back to the scene playing out in front them. The bags have been loaded into the van, the driver already behind the wheel and the detectives finally dispersing. Of course, though this particular scene is now finished, the ongoing play will continue. Tomorrow another cast - or perhaps the same one - will be re-assembled to assume similar roles, with only changes in the stage set defining it as a different act. 

He attempts to shake off this morbidity.

“Well, we might as well get going. I think it may be freezing; my ears are numb!”

“Go ahead, Harold. I’m going to walk for a while…” And the ex-op turns on his heel, heading into the mist. 

Finch stands silently, watching the tall man trudge against the wind and disappear around the corner at end of the block. _Not good. Not good at all._

In his mind he sees himself lurching after the ex-agent, but to what purpose? Minutes pass and then with the wind dancing around him and his thoughts in a furious churn, he walks slowly to his car. 

At least it will be warmer in there while he thinks about what to do next.

\------------------

“Are you in place, Mr. Tao?”

_“Sure am Finchy. And by the way, this is a really, really classy joint! Are you springing for dinner too?”_

Finch sighs. He's found keeping Leon focused is a bit like herding cats as the volatile little man seems to suffer from a cognitive problem - namely a severe lack of concentration! 

He would have preferred to use one of the detective duo for this surveillance project, but neither was available. Leon will just have to do, though he finds the eagerness with which the little man jumped at the opportunity to spy on John a bit disturbing. Leon was particularly gleeful to be given an ITE device, quickly placing it in his ear and testing the appliance over and over with the annoying comment, _“can you hear me now?”_

At that point, Finch had already been regretting this part of his plan.

“I will consider purchasing your dinner after a successful report, Mr. Tao. And not before.”

_“Done! I’m your man here…I can do this. But I’ll need a drink to justify sitting at this bar. Otherwise they might throw me out!”_

“Very well. But keep your consumption to a minimum please. I need you to keep alert.”

_“Of course! Of course! Didn’t I do you right at that casino…huh? Helped you and John get the stuff you needed?”_

“Yes Mr. Tao. Kudos to you…again. Now, please focus!” Finch concentrates on reining in his irritation, but his worry keeps pushing it to the forefront. “Do you see Mr. Reese?” 

_“Barkeep! A tequila shot, please! And keep them coming!”_ There’s a momentary silence.  
_“Yeah, I see him. He’s sitting at a table by himself. What’s this about Finchy? You and John break up? I thought the two you were attached at the hip.”_

“Thanks for that visual Mr. Tao,” is the sarcastic reply. “My reason for this surveillance is of no concern to you. John is to meet someone for dinner and suffice it to say I need you to stay out of his sight.” 

_“Yeah, I get it. I’m undercover! Don’t worry Finchy. He’ll never know I’m here!”_  
Then, to the sound of liquid pouring into a glass, _“Hey, there’s a girl walking up to his table. Wow..ee! Nice looking broad! Uh…lady.”_

Finch sits up straighter. “Describe her please.” 

_“Ummm…thirties, late thirties? A mature woman, all woman, not a fluff head, if you know what I mean? Not very tall. Nice figure. Great pair of gams. Long brown hair. Oh, wait. Girls like to call that sable, not brown. But I say a rose by any other name, you know, is…”_

“Focus, Leon!” 

_“Oh…yeah, right. Ok. He got up to pull out her chair. What a gentleman! Ladies like that you know...”_

Finch snorts. Leon giving advice on women is a bit like the Titanic’s captain offering maritime directions. 

_Yeah, she’s short. Barely tops his shoulder, even wearing those FM heels. So I guess she’s like 5.4, maybe 5.5…”_

“FM heels? Oh. Never mind, I figured it out. Continue please…” 

_“Wow…! She seems to know John. So I’m assuming she’s not a hooker? They wouldn’t just walk up to a guy and kiss him in a restaurant! At least they never did that to me! But then, John’s a good looking dude. Maybe that happens to him all the time. I never have that kind of luck, but that’s because I’m not tall like him…”_

Finch rubs both hands over his face. Leon Tao is going to drive him insane with his non-relevant chatter. The man must have ADD or something! However, his dubious choice of spy may be a chatterbox, but at least he got some of the results he’s looking for; the woman has at been identified as the correct person to be joining Mr. Reese for dinner. 

He sits back, relieved that at least this part of his plan is progressing as designed and thankful that his contact responded to this request on such short notice. He knows she is busy, her skills being much in demand… 

And hopefully she’ll be successful here. 

...….

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

“Not that I’m not enjoying this, but why are we here, Zoe?”

“Maybe I just wanted some company this evening…?” she replies, watching Reese fill her wine glass for the second time. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to relax like this. Besides, did you have anything better to do?” 

She studies him over the rim of the glass, evaluating, analyzing. After years of living by her wits it’s her automatic response to any male in which she has an interest. And John is certainly interesting.

All her comments to him are absolutely true. While she has no problem bending the truth should it fit her purpose, she doesn’t want to lie to John…especially since she really _is_ enjoying this evening. The dinner was excellent, as one would expect from this Five-Star restaurant. The wine relaxing, and sharing it with a sexy male…? Priceless...Better than any dessert they could serve! 

She’s also competitive enough to get pleasure from the sidelong glances thrown their way by the multitude of ladies in the room, but wonders – and not for the first time - why John doesn’t have a long line of women trailing him wherever he goes…like a modern man-in-a-suit pied piper! 

But then, maybe it’s not such a mystery… 

She makes a concerted effort to look at him through the eyes of a stranger, and not as someone who knows him well. 

And yes, from that perspective she can see what other females surely recognize: the strong self will in that set of the jaw, the steely determination in eyes almost color of that adjective, the threat of violence that seems to shimmer just below the surface of lean, tightly packed muscle. 

Women are drawn to his good looks, but the smart ones will act on their intuition and keep their distance - because ever since humans first walked the earth, the key to survival has been to seek out prey without becoming one. And even in these modern times, like water, that atavistic instinct to avoid a predator will find its way to the surface…and John is definitely a top-of-the-food-chain predator! 

Somewhat like herself, she has to admit, as she smiles at the thought, acknowledging that the very vibes that may keep other women at bay are exactly the ones that attract her! 

But this is a man who has walked a very rocky path through life, experiencing – and perhaps causing – the type of devastation she doesn’t ever want to know first hand. And those experiences haven’t just turned him into a very dangerous package indeed, they have broken something vital, shattered pieces of his soul…

_I don’t think there’s a woman out there alive that can fix you, John._

She remembers saying that to him not so long ago, adding a second thought: _not that I wouldn’t mind trying!_... though not out loud of course. But, she reminds herself now - she’s on assignment! And while she wouldn’t accept the handsome figure Finch offered, it’s in her best interest to have the reclusive geek owe her a favor. 

She successfully lured John to this restaurant; now all she has to do is get him to open up.

\------------------

“Mr. Tao, if I may interrupt you, I would like an update please!”

_“Uh…sweetheart, excuse me a minute. My stockbroker is calling with some important information. Here, let me get you another drink, and I’ll just go over here and answer this…”_

“Sweetheart...?” Finch almost pounds the desk in frustration. “Mr. Tao…!”

_“Sorry, Finchy. But I couldn’t just walk off! That’d be really rude and you don’t want me to hurt some poor girl’s feelings do you? And she kinda reminds me of Candy, you know? If she had pink hair. And was a bit taller…”_

Finch closes his eyes. His head is beginning to pound. For the last hour he’d listened in through the little man’s ear piece, and had been subjected to a constant flow of idle chit-chat. With the bartender, with the waitress, with any female that happened to walk by...! And Leon’s pick-up lines were truly abysmal!

_“I don't know you, but I think I love you already.”_

_“I hope you know CPR, ‘cause you take my breath away!”_

_“Hello. Cupid called. He says to tell you that he needs my heart back…”_

It was simply embarrassing! And it was no wonder Leon attracted only the professional ladies of the night…they at least knew there would be a payday at the end of the evening to offset the amateur come-ons and constant prattle. At any other time he might be amused at the man’s efforts, but considering the assignment at stake, he is tempted to call the bartender and have ice water poured on the wanna-be Romeo!

“Mr Tao…could you please refrain from attempting to arrange a date on this job?”

_Oh, come on Finchy! I’m just trying to stay in character here. You know, like someone who would spend a lot of time on a bar stool, drinking…”_

Finch looks at the ceiling for salvation. He would have much preferred to be privy to the conversation occurring at the dinner table across the room, but even had he managed to get Leon closer without John’s knowledge, the two at the table are not just average citizens; they are far too knowledgeable about surveillance techniques to allow that kind of eavesdropping. 

Witness the fact that Ms. Morgan had reserved one of the few tables outside the scope of the restaurant’s cameras, leaving Finch with only on-the-spot reports from a chatty con artist who made his living reading other people. And so far, according to Leon, neither party evidenced any tension or stress, their conversation muted and seemingly very cordial. Very.

In fact, his garrulous spy had already decided that John was attempting to, in Leon’s words, _“charm the chick into bed”._

Finch chose to ignore that analysis, but because of the small man’s assessments, concludes it didn’t seem likely Ms. Morgan was making much headway in penetrating John’s formidable armor. He could only assume she had been using her best interviewing techniques. 

A good hour has passed, but now there has been no relevant commentary for almost ten minutes. Once more he wishes Reese wasn’t quite so knowledgeable about surveillance methods. But he really can’t complain; the ex-agent normally has no issue with his boss listening in on his activities, on the job or off. Except apparently now! 

“What’s going on with Mr. Reese, Leon?”

_“Oh. His date left about 5 minutes ago and then he paid the bill and left himself...”_

“What..!! And you didn’t think that was important enough to tell me at the time?” Finch almost sputters… surprise, frustration, and anger fighting for dominance. Bear comes to his side, fixing concerned eyes on him, as though attempting to determine whether this is an issue a dog should also address. 

“It’s all right Bear. I’m just trying to deal with an idiot here…” he says to the worried animal.

_“Oh…now that’s just harsh, man! How was I to know she’d get a phone call and…and leave! I thought she was just going to the restroom! Women do that all the time during a date. At least during mine…”_

Finch sighs again. “You’re off the clock, Mr. Tao. You may go now.”

_“Hey, what about my dinner…?”_

\---------------------------------  
To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

EARLIER THAT DAY:

Reese turns up his collar, then cups his gloved hands over his ears to warm them temporarily. 

After watching that unsettling coroner’s scene earlier, he’d been walking, idly wandering up one street and then the next, the cold settling into his bones. He stops and looks around, a bit surprised that his aimless meandering has somehow taken him to Washington Square and the row of elegant condos nearby. 

Evidently his subconscious made some decisions without tuning in the rest of his gray matter. Scary.

The stately buildings wear a hazy shroud now, the golden glow from one particular window a warm beacon calling to him to come inside, out of the wintery dusk. He stands, momentarily watching the misting rain creating a halo around that window. A shadow passes by behind the filmy curtains, evidence that someone is home. 

The curtains don’t quite meet in the middle…but he won’t be so rude as to peer inside. It’s enough to know she is there, probably working on her latest art project. No doubt a commission that Finch arranged to be sent her way. 

_I’ll grow old with her, Mr. Reese, just from afar…_

The sad words ring in his mind, and again he wishes there was something he could do, or say, that would make a difference. But Finch, with his brilliant mind would likely have already gone through every option, every alternative route possible. 

And in the end, there had been but one choice: Harold and his loved one will travel through their lives on parallel but separate tracks. It was a choice he as a CIA agent too had made, but for different reasons…and with a very different outcome. 

That lonely path his boss treads...? It’s much more difficult than the one he currently walks himself, because unlike his own lost love, Grace is still very much alive, safe, secure, and as much as the reclusive billionaire is able to provide…cared for. 

And Finch lives with that knowledge every second of every day.

He moves away silently, and finding a taxi stand, flags down one of the few cabbies still patrolling the wet streets.

...…

It’s a fairly long ride to this residential area, to an address he keeps in a special memory file along with several others. The cab ride has warmed him somewhat, allowing him step out into the cold now without feeling its effect so much. He asks the cabbie to wait on him.

The houses here are typical suburbia, with one much the same as the other. There’s a certain steadfastness in this commonality, a sense of security - probably overrated - but comforting. He walks slowly up the path and rings the bell knowing that the inhabitants will recognize him instantly. 

They see him infrequently, but it’s enough to not fear his sudden presence on their doorstep.

He won’t linger long. He never does. This older couple has always accommodated his visits and while they certainly appreciate his continuing concern and support, he doesn’t want to usurp their primary position in this child’s life, their grandchild’s life. Just a few minutes, and he’ll be on his way. 

But it’s more than a few minutes, twenty actually, before he steps back outside, assured that Leila is still safe, secure, and in the hands of people who love her.

_It’d be nice to have a child…children. Think that will ever happen..?_

The meter has been running the whole time, much to the cabbies delight, and the ex-agent sighs, though feeling lighter already as he gives the driver the next address. 

…...

 

Reese glances at his watch. He’s been standing across the street from the brownstone building for almost thirty minutes now. The cold and wet seeping into his very bones is becoming uncomfortable…but there, finally! 

So…obviously no practice tonight; the weather is too chilly, too wet. 

The ex-agent watches as the teenager races up the steps with the enviable energy of a healthy young male, a book bag bouncing on his back. The door opens, offering a glimpse of Detective Carter as she welcomes her son home, and then it closes, and he’s left alone in the misty gloom. 

_Good to know you keep your word!_

_I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to your son!_

He thinks briefly about knocking on that door, of being invited in, but the Detective works long hours and he knows time with her son is limited, precious. He won’t intrude on that. And besides, everything is all right now; both are home. Safe. 

Having already sent the cab on its way, Reese turns up his collar once more and points his feet west. It’s not a long walk, less than ten blocks to a Precinct he knows well. 

The exercise will do him good…and maybe warm up his insides.

 

Not twenty minutes later he’s peering through the side of a large window, misting rain condensing and running off the glass in rivulets as the wind gusts around the corner. The bowling alley is noisy and crowded, more so than usual…no doubt a result of the inclement weather. No one wants to be out in this weather unless absolutely necessary.

The mill of people, young and old, creates a living tapestry inside the hazy room but it doesn’t take him long to spot his quarry. There, widely gesturing after just taking his turn on the alley is his pet detective.

The expansive arm movements and body language are inevitably ignored by the rolling ball as it seeks the gutter and leaves all pins safely standing tall. The portly cop returns to his seat, his expression one of exaggerated sorrow, much to his son’s delight. The boy laughs and grabs a ball for his turn as the detective looks on fondly. 

_If HR gives you any trouble, Lionel, I’ve got your back…_

Reese shakes his head, his thoughts taking him over the evolution of the complicated relationship he has with this portly policeman. How did it all get to this? 

The at-first-reluctant asset has gradually morphed into an ally of sorts, enough so that he feels a responsibility now to keep an eye on the one time gofer for HR…just to make sure the detective doesn’t fall back into his old ways, obviously. But also to maintain a valuable contact within the precinct. And perhaps because the man has a son to raise…

At the moment of course, the only danger facing the chubby cop is pulled muscle! 

He turns his head upward to the sky. What had started out as a misting rain is now shape-shifting into something else. Large, wet flakes swirl around him now, dancing to the whistling tune of a gusting wind. It’s time head back... 

He hails his cab, thankful to have the opportunity to warm up again.

.....

Exiting on Worth Street, he pays the cabbie, adding a tip generous enough to earn him a genuine smile from the cities’ normally taciturn drivers. Strolling the length of Columbus Park, he angles toward one of the tables at its perimeter.

Tomorrow is his scheduled game with Han, and they will sit here, chatting and attempting to best each other at Chinese Chess. And if this snow continues into the next day? Well…they’ll simple move to the covered pavilion.

_How come you’re not working today?_

_My boss gave me the day off…it’s my birthday._

_Shēngrì kuàilè...!_

He thinks of the old man, now undoubtedly in the cozy apartment he shares with his daughter and her family, surrounded by his clan, grandchildren clamoring for his attention. 

Reese runs his hand lightly across the wet table top. He shifts his shoulders, relaxing cold muscles, and as he heads for his own apartment with a contented sigh, his phone rings.

“Hello, Zoe…”

...…

PRESENT:

Finch absently rubs Bear’s ears. This evening hadn’t turned out at all like he had expected, had hoped for. Perhaps it had not been the wisest plan after all, but John walking off after that depressing scene in the rain… He couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, knowing the mental anguish the ex-agent was probably going through. Putting himself through.

He thinks back on the events of the last several days, the Numbers the machine had presented them, all the foot work they had both done in order to defuse an impending threat to a woman with an abusive soon-to-be ex-husband. It seemed to be a classic case, almost a cliché. 

And when she purchased the gun they had both assumed it was for self-defense.

But the existences of the two people whom they were to protect, a mother and young child, winked out in the time it took a bullet to travel the distance from barrel through human flesh…as she turned the gun first on her child, then herself. 

Murder-suicide, the coroner would determine. A classic case. 

_We have limited information, John. We knew when we began this that we might make mistakes…._

But John really _does_ expect to save everyone. And the fact that one of these victims was a young child makes it all the harder for him to bear. For them both to bear.

Heart heavy, Finch gives the dog one last pat and walks to the case board where he strips off the photograph. He stands and stares at this image frozen in time, captured by someone’s camera. A picture of an earlier occasion, when mother and child were seemingly happy. 

With a sigh he limps to the far corner of the chamber and carefully places the photo on his wall. One more among so many others.

But he reminds himself that he hasn’t added to the wall for some time…testimony to all their successes. And while they may not be able to save all lives, the ones they do? In those lives they make a huge difference. A few starfish thrown back into the ocean... 

“Did you get something to eat yet, Harold?”

Finch startles at the sound. He’d wrapped his introspective mood around himself like a blanket and never heard the gate open, never even saw Bear leave his side to greet the ex-agent. 

“N..no... That is…”

“Good. Because I brought you a doggy bag. Great food at that place, but the portions are really way too big for one person.” 

Reese places the sack on the table, and Finch’s stomach rumbles as his nose takes in the mouth-watering aromas. Though hungry as he is, he stares at his employee critically, looking for signs of stress, tension. But there aren’t any, at least none that he can detect. His employee…business partner…friend…looks calm and relaxed. 

He proceeds to unpack the various containers, while Bear looks on hopefully.

“How was your own dinner, Mr. Reese?” he asks, feigning indifference, not daring to meet the ex-agent’s eyes. John can be scarily perceptive.

“It was fine, Finch. But let me arrange my own date next time, ok?”

At that Finch does glance up. The tall man is smiling gently, seemingly in good spirits. As the reclusive geek bites into a tender piece of steak, savoring the explosion of flavors, he wonders if Ms. Morgan is responsible for this aura of peace he senses in his employee. 

But he won’t pry. After all, everyone deals with the aftermath of failure in their own way…

“And Finch, just so you know…Leon may be a great forensic accountant, but he’s a really lousy spy.”

 

End.


End file.
